Henry Marvolo Evans or A Deal with Fate
by CrimsonDomi
Summary: Harry Potter lost everyone while winning the war. You know the story. So, he spends quite a long time learning how to go back and get a deal with Fate. The deal: No memories, an alternate universe, and the identity of Henry Marvolo Evans, with Neville the Boy Who Lived. Features Unspeakables and a sort-of-genius Henry.
1. A Deal with Fate

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. And now, to imitate Snape, if you have to make me say it, you truly are a batch of dunderheads.**

* * *

**A Deal with Fate**

Harry James Potter had won the war.

He had lost everyone he cared about.

That had been one hundred years ago, but he still remembered his decision that day: He'd find a way to do over and make it better this time. No matter what the cost.

He had spent the rest of his life learning, languages, magic, runes, arithmancy, potions, he was hailed as a universal genius, all because in his zeal for his quest he didn't care about anything but learning any more. He had learnt proper duelling, but his focus was more on the mind than on the body.

By now, his formerly black hair was as white as snow. In his nineties, it still had consisted mainly of grey.

He was the most famous researcher in the entire world. His inventions – the Lycanthropic Cure and the Parselmouth Potion in the realm of cauldron brewing, the Protective Circle and the Body Wards in Warding and Runes, the Three Theorems of Telling the Untold in Numerology and his break-through in Spell Creation that allowed one to break up any spell in pure arithmantic formulas, which he had promptly used to dissect most of the Dark Arts, finding, surprisingly enough, that most of them did not have any effect on the soul – and his re-discoveries of things like the Inheritance Potion and at least twenty ancient, thought to be lost forever, manuscripts, had made him more than famous. He was a legend, now.

He had studied anything and everything he came across.

He sometimes wondered whether Hermione would have done better or worse than him if she had survived, or how he would have done in school had he applied his full brain capacity. He'd found a love for Potions and Runes and well, everything learnable he never knew he had in him.

He still hadn't found a way to go back. Everything else had been mainly side-distractions, there for him to take his mind of the problem he still couldn't solve, although some of it would undoubtedly prove useful in the past.

He was delving into something else right now. He had just found hints of it in his books, subtle clues that had taken forever to decipher.

There was a way to summon entities like Time and Fate.

He was just working on the how right now. He would leave his notes, of course, in several copies in different levels of vagueness, just in case a deal with Fate included having to exterminate more detailed descriptions, so that anyone coming after him would have it easier.

It was time to face Fate.

Again, but this time on his terms.

He had prepared the summoning ritual meticulously, he had double-checked every single thing... he was ready, now.

All that was required now was some blood.

It was strange. Magic seemed to have an obsession with blood. Most of the more powerful rituals required it in some form.

The room filled with what appeared to be white smoke.

It was everywhere, clouding Harry's view.

_You summoned me._

"I did."

_What for?_

"A second chance. I want to go back in time."

_I'm sorry... that's impossible._

"Pardon?"

_You can't go back in your own universe. The past has already happened, it is unchangeable if you want to preserve the present. In this case, if say, you'd go back, with all your memories, and did everything for the younger you, it wouldn't have any incentive to become you and learn how to do all of this himself. In which case, you'd probably get a stroke to preserve the timeline, or that universe would collapse into itself._

So all those years of preparations... Wasted.

_I can offer you another deal, though._

"Which kind of deal?"

_You can't go back in your own universe. Doesn't mean you can't go to an alternate one. There might be one that needs a little help._

"How does that alternate universe look?"

_Your counterpart, for a start, isn't the Boy Who Lived. This position is held by one Neville Longbottom there. Your counterpart still has parents. Oh, and it hasn't advanced beyond second year, yet. _

"Is Neville a horcrux, then?"

_That's the beauty of it. He isn't. Which of course means, that, well, he can't go into the Chamber._

"And I could go there. I will go there. What's the catch?"

_Well, you couldn't waltz in and declare yourself a Harry Potter from another universe, of course. And of course, there's the matter of payment._

"What payment?"

_You wouldn't remember any personal details. Like your name, or your story of life, or your parents, or your friends. You'd keep all of your abilities, though. Every single thing you can do._

"No more nightmares, then."

_Not quite. Instead of memories, you would get a variant of the Seer gift. Premonition. Oh, and you'll be allowed to chose your name and parentage._

"Let me guess. So that an Inheritance Potion won't show my actual parents."

_Exactly. May I make a suggestion for the parentage?_

"If you want to."

_Your mother had a squib cousin, by name of Rose Evans. She'd make a good mother, as she is dead in that universe, anyway. In both of them, actually. Died when either you was just six months old. _

"And for a father?"

_In that universe, there was a man named Marvolo Aenrichus Riddle. Son of Tom Marvolo Riddle and a Beatrice Potter, the latter died in an accident when she was five in your world. The two of them were lovers._

"No way in hell."

_Come on._

"Did you listen to me?"

_It would make the whole thing a lot better._

"No."

_If I would make it a condition of you crossing?_

"I guess... okay. If you absolutely insist."

_Your name?_

"Last name... well, Evans, I guess."

_Technically, Evans-Riddle._

"Let's just act as if I don't know this at that point in time."

_Okay. So, Evans..._

"Wasn't Aenrichus the Latin form of Henry? So, Aenrichus Marvolo Evans, or Henry Marvolo Evans, after my father, his father's middle name, and _his _mother's father."

_Perfect._

"Henry Marvolo Evans. When do I start?"

_Now, of course._

And suddenly, Harry – or Henry, now – was gone, he felt himself fall, and at the same time was torn in every possible direction, then squeezed together into an infinitely small point, until he lost consciousness.

His last thought was: Why again did I agree to this? The answer was simple: Because he'd lived the last hundred years for this opportunity.

* * *

When the Unspeakable with the codename Ptolemy entered the Room of Time, he hadn't expected to find a twelve-year-old boy there, a boy with raven-black hair lying halfway on some of the most dangerous artefacts in the entire world.

Before he could think, he'd torn the boy away from them.

His eyes fluttered open. Vibrant green eyes, of a like he'd nearly never seen before.

"Where am I?"

The boy didn't know?

"Who are you?"

"My name is Henry."

"Henry."

"Henry."

"Just Henry?"

"Uh... Henry Evans, sir."

Ptolemy seriously considered just dosing the boy with Veritaserum. In the end, he decided to first drag him into another room. Lying on time artefacts could do some pretty mean things to a child, well, anyone, actually.

He informed Croaker, then put three drops into a glass of water.

"Drink this."

The boy sniffed.

"Veritaserum."

"How do you know this?"

"No change in colour or odour, and besides, it would be the most likely thing to give to anyone in a place where he isn't expected. From your reaction, I'm pretty sure I wasn't expected to be where I was."

Ptolemy could hear his boss coming in, under an invisibility cloak. The interrogation could begin.

"You're pretty good, kid. Now, do me a favour and take a drink."

Wordlessly, the boy drowned the potion.

"What is your full name?"

"Aenrichus Marvolo Evans, as far as I know."

"Nicknames?"

"Henry."

"How did you come to be here?"

"You dragged me here."

Exact words, Ptolemy, exact words.

"I mean, how did you come to be in the room I found you in?"

"I don't know."

"Where do you live? Who are your guardians?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I don't remember. I don't remember anything that is part of my personal history except for my name and my date of birth. Oh, and a bit of my name's history."

Such a case. Ptolemy had heard of them, but never quite believed it.

"When were you born, then?"

"31st July 1980."

"Your name's history?"

"Marvolo was my father's name and his father's second name, my father's second name was Aenrichus, after his maternal grandfather. My mother's last name was Evans."

"Nothing else?"

"Knowledge. Like, I know how to swim, and how to write, and how to read, and..."

"That's enough. Croaker, what do you say?"

"I'd say we're gonna help a boy in need. Give him the antidote, Ptolemy."

A few drops of antidote later, Henry was in a normal state again.

"Was this really necessary?"

"Lesson Number One, kid: You never know what an enemy could do."

* * *

An hour later, they had administered the Talent Determiner Potion, and Croaker was quite impressed.

The boy was a Parselmouth, seldom enough, and had the rare gift of Premonition. The difference between Premonition and Seeing was mainly one of whether prophecies were given, and of reach and exactness. Someone with Premonition might be able to just look a moment into the future at times of stress, and they might get rather accurate clues on trustworthiness of others. A Seer gave prophecies and... well, not much else.

Of course, there were different flavours of Premonition, some useful, some not quite so. Croaker had known a Premonitor with the "gift" of always knowing what surprise gift he was going to be given.

The man's joy in Christmas had been utterly destroyed, because no gift could ever surprise him.

Another with that gift could always determine whether or not someone wore socks and if yes, how they looked, even without seeing them. Not exactly the most useful gift.

A Premonitress Croaker had met once, however, had sometimes gotten a clue on things that she shouldn't have known about that were actually useful. She'd found quite a lot of tombs in Egypt that had been hidden so well that only luck or this kind of gift could ever uncover them.

He sincerely hoped Henry's gift belonged to the latter kind.

While he tested Henry on magical theory, he decided that the Unspeakable Force definitely needed a mascot. A mascot named Henry Marvolo Evans. The dubious honour of handling his paperwork was given to the Unspeakable Ptolemy. In Croaker's opinion, they were a pretty good match. Ptolemy had found the boy, and he could show him that being a Parselmouth didn't mean you had to be an evil scumbag. After all, Ptolemy was one himself.

And so, Henry came to be basically adopted by a man named Markus Ptolemäus Hohenheimer, or Unspeakable Ptolemy.

It was the January of the year 1993.


	2. Albus Dumbledore

**Albus Dumbledore **

Henry was training hard, as hard as he could.

Ptolemy was a good trainer, and a nice person, all in all, but still, Henry sometimes wished he had some contact with people who weren't Unspeakables, and, preferably, somewhere a bit close to his age. The next oldest person was twenty whole years older than him, after all.

He had been declared a prodigy by every single teacher he had. He didn't know where he got his drive from, he didn't know where he got his knowledge from, and it didn't quite matter to him. He would train, train for a danger he didn't even understand or remember. But he knew it would come, he knew it would be there, and so, he trained.

There were a lot of things the Unspeakables couldn't teach him. They couldn't really teach him about Runes, or Arithmancy, or Potions. They could teach him about spell knowledge, though. His Charms and Transfiguration knowledge was years behind his abilities in the aforementioned three.

What they couldn't teach him about, either, was where he came from. They had no idea.

He wanted to know who he was. He wanted to know his roots. All he had was his father's first and his mother's last names. The latter wasn't that useful – half the Muggle world was called Evans, after all – but Marvolo wasn't such a common name, so if he would meet anyone who wore it, well, he'd likely found a relative.

And even though Ptolemy was a kind and patient teacher, and Croaker was the best sort-of-Grandfather Henry could imagine, he still wanted to know about his roots.

He wanted to know who his father and mother were, and how he'd ended up here. Why weren't they taking care of him? And surely, he had had other relatives. There had to be someone there who was a part of his family. There just had to be.

And he would find them, and make them see what he had become.

But before, he would train. And he would train as hard as he could, so he became someone his parents would be proud of.

He looked at his small room. It contained a bed, a chair and desk, and quite a lot of shelves stocked with books upon books. He had a little money, mainly because the Minister had agreed to "employ" yet another Unspeakable trainee. Croaker had helped him set up a Gringotts' account. His wages weren't bad, but Croaker and Ptolemy insisted that he saved most of the money, for his future. Still, he had an allowance that was just big enough to account for proper clothing and, of course, book shopping sprees. Proper clothing, meaning not wizarding robes, but normal jeans and T-shirt. Robes were uncomfortable, Henry found.

Of course, something he never went without was his wand. He had been found with it, and Ollivander had told him that it was "Thirteen inches, walnut and Phoenix feather. Most unusual combination."

* * *

Months passed, and Ptolemy wondered about his young charge's drive. The boy was reading almost none-stop, things that should have been much too advanced for a child, he was behaving as if there was some invisible danger that would come and be fought against.

He didn't ask, though. Ptolemy hoped that Henry would trust him enough to open up by himself.

There was something else that worried him: From Hogwarts, he had heard news of the petrifications. What on Earth was happening there? According to legend and rumours, there was some monster on the lose. He was pretty sure that anything that could petrify was a) not native to Britain or/and b) long extinct.

Gorgons just turned to stone, they didn't petrify. Cockatrices could petrify under certain circumstances, but they had been nearly hunted to extinction during the eighteenth century and preferred warmer climates, anyway, and their lifespan didn't go beyond forty years, so it couldn't be a legendary monster from a thousand years back. To his knowledge, there was no other creature that _could_ petrify.

When Dumbledore came to their department after his dismissal, he met Henry.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had always believed himself to have rather strong nerves.

He still couldn't help but gasp when he was introduced to Henry Evans.

Tousled black hair and shining emerald eyes, he would have reminded him of a boy his age, Mr. Potter, except for the simple fact that Albus Dumbledore recognized Mr. Evans' features as belonging to someone entirely else. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Do I know you, sir?" Had the boy spotted his recognition?

"N-no... I don't think so. Mr. Evans, correct?"

"Correct. Henry Evans, sir. I'm sorry if I should recognize you, Mr. …."

"... Albus Dumbledore."

The boys eyes widened.

"You're Albus Dumbledore? The one who defeated Grindelwald? Who discovered the twelve uses of dragon blood?"

"Yes, that's me." Albus smiled. This childlike innocence was something Tom never had possessed.

"Wicked. I learnt all about you, well... a month ago, technically, but I thought I might have heard it before."

A month ago? How on Earth...?

"Uh... I'm sorry, sir, I likely had heard of you before, it's just, you see, I don't remember anything."

"Nothing?"

"I woke up here, a few months ago, with no knowledge but my name, my birthday, and a bit of naming history."

Albus Dumbledore blinked. An amnesiac?

"Did you recognize me?", the boy asked. There was a look of hope on his face, a desperate, hungry hope to learn about who he was, the same hunger that had been on Tom's face...

"I have seen hundreds of students going through my school. I might have seen a member of your family before, but it is rather hard to know who that was." Albus felt horrible when he saw the hope on that face falling. But he couldn't be the one to tell the boy who he thought he was related to... Telling him he was related to a Dark Lord wasn't what the boy needed. He might either join his grandfather or react with a bitterness and a hatred for his roots. Neither would be good for him. In this case, ignorance likely was bliss.

"I see... Sir, if you remember, will you tell me? Please." There was this desperate hunger again.

"I will." A lie. He couldn't tell the boy. He couldn't.

"Do you promise?", the boy asked. Albus didn't want to be an oathbreaker, but this was one oath he couldn't keep.

"I promise."

There was a long silence.

Then: "Is it true that in your third fight against Lord Voldemort, you used a variant of the Lightning Hex? Could you please tell me the details of the modification?" Albus sighed internally. It was so much easier, dealing with something like this.

He gladly told the boy about every single detail he could remember, while Mr. Evans took notes. He was a meticulous note-taker, Albus observed, and seemed to obviously understand the material. It was eerie, how much he resembled the boy Riddle could have turned into, had he been any better. Intelligent, observant, charming, a prodigy, but yet, there was none of that arrogance, no belief in his superiority, no malevolence.

It was like meeting another Tom, from another timeline, where things turned out much better. A Tom he would have enjoyed to teach.

And so, Albus Dumbledore spent his weeks in the Department of Mysteries mainly talking to a young boy and enjoying, again, the brilliance of teaching someone who truly wanted to learn and understood what he was taught.

One of the few shocks when teaching him had been when he had started talking to his guardian. In Parseltongue. They hadn't known Albus was there.

Albus had nearly had a heart attack before realizing he really should have expected the boy to know Parseltongue. After all, he was a descendant of Slytherin, for all he suspected.

Then, he realized that Ptolemy, a man he had known for twenty years, had replied in kind. He'd never even known or suspected.

"You're both Parselmouths."

Ptolemy turned around.

"Yes."

"I've known you for twenty years now. You never told me." It wasn't the fact he was a Parselmouth that meant Albus was miffed. It was that Ptolemy hadn't trusted him.

"1764, 1815, 1879, the 1940's. Do you know what all those dates have in common?"

What did that mean?

"I don't."

"1764: The Parselmouth Scare. Following the ascension of the Dark Lord Serpentine, a known Parselmouth who flaunted his ability even in his name, hundreds of us were killed all over Europe. 1815: After yet another member of the Gaunt Family chose to become a Dark Lord, fifty known Parselmouth were publicly executed on false charges, ten of whom were still underage. The youngest was three, Albus. Three years old, and they charged him with embezzlement and executed him. 1879: In the US, a Dark Lord rises. Another Parselmouth. The result was that them overseas rounded up every Parselmouth they could find. A hundred children were rounded up to be kissed by Dementors. The 1940's: Grindelwald tells his man Hitler to throw every Parselmouth he could find into concentration camps. We bled right alongside the Jews, Jehovah's Witnesses, Gypsies and everyone else seen as lesser or worthless or not "Aryan" enough, Albus. There were quite some in those camps who were both a Parselmouth and something else that offended that mouse-brained Hitlidiot. Some of the 'liberators' actually killed any Parselmouth they came across on the assumption that they had 'obviously' collaborated with Grindelwald because they were Parselmouths and therefore evil. That was just the worst of it, Albus. Even now it is fact that if you're a known Parselmouth, most people won't trust you, and just in the event of another Dark Moron rising, most Parselmouths are killed off. I like living. I won't just tell everybody I come across what I am. Even if I have known them for years. In this Department, only Croaker knows, and only because he is so damn open-minded."

"I..." Albus was speechless. That was something that he'd never read about in any history books, or heard about in History of Magic.

Of course, Binns hadn't exactly been the most reliable teacher.

"How did you learn all of this?"

"Family history. The first three, I heard about from my father, the last one... well, my parents both survived the Camps. My father's a Parselmouth, my mum's Jewish. My grandparents were killed before my father's eyes when one of those who liberated the Camps recognized them as known Parselmouths."

"Oh..." Albus couldn't quite believe it. Everyone knew that being a Parselmouth was a mark of a Dark Wizard. A part of him still wanted to say that they had to have done something, before he reminded himself that he had fallen into the same trap before. Ingrained prejudice was hard to battle, after all, although it became easier after the first few rounds.

There was nothing that could justify publicly executing a three year old. There was nothing that could justify Concentration Camps. There was nothing that could justify letting children receive the Dementor's Kiss.

And he had helped carry the attitude that allowed for those atrocities.

Suddenly, he felt rather ill.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Snapping, and, well, being a general idiot. And everything that happened."

"Apology accepted."

"They really let a hundred kids be kissed by Dementors?"

"Yes. Of course, that only lead to some of the ones that escaped following Dark Lords, themselves. After all, those normally were the only ones who actually wanted anything to do with Parselmouths. Or, well, who actually would leave them alive."

That was something Albus hadn't considered. It wasn't very nice, that knowledge.

"I'm feeling ill, right now."

"Felt the same whenever I was afraid people would find out."

"Can I... have some time to think?"

"Of course."

And Albus went into his own room to spend time brooding over something he had never even suspected.

* * *

A few days later, in the middle of one of his teaching sessions with Henry, the boy suddenly ran out of the room. Albus had not a single idea why. It hadn't been anything he had said, he was sure about that. They had been talking about the uses of dragon blood in Potions, and then, Henry was gone, mid-sentence.

He followed him through the door. It took him an hour to find the boy, who had donned a lab coat in the meantime, in the Department's Potions Lab 3.

There were note sheets lying around everywhere, and the boy was stirring counter-clockwise at the moment.

"Henry?"

"Psht. That's a difficult step. I've had the idea for this almost since I came here, and now it's nearly finished."

Albus just decided to stay quiet and not do anything until the inevitable explosion came. Experimental Potions almost always blew up. He just had to hope that no poisonous smoke would develop.

He didn't know how long he sat there and observed Henry, who was armed with an absolute look of concentration on his face, a fountain pen and a notepad. He alternated between putting things into the potion and taking exact notes.

Once, Albus saw disgustedly that the boy added a bit of his own blood to the potion.

To Albus great surprise, when the boy stopped brewing, the potion made no effort to blow up in their face.

"It's finished."

"What is finished?"

"Here. Take it. It's not a poison, I promise."

Albus swallowed. Hard. Would he trust Henry with this?

Yes, he would. Which just explained why he had been chosen for Gryffindor.

He took a sip of the potion.

"_Can you understand me?"_

"_Yes. Of course. Why shouldn't I understand you?"_ The boy was speaking plain English, after all.

"_It worked! YES!" _He didn't get why Henry was wearing such a large grin on his face.

"_Come on! We've got to find Ptolemy, Professor!"_

And Henry tore him with him, not stopping until they were standing in front of Ptolemy's office.

"_Ptolemy! It worked! My idea worked!"_

"_What?"_

"_Professor Dumbledore, please say something."_

"_I don't get it."_

"_See!"_

"_I see. This is an amazing discovery. I presume the effects are temporary?"_

"_Yes, but still... it works!"_

"_What works?" _Both man and boy shared equally large grins.

"_Ptolemy, do you have Violet here?" _Violet was Ptolemy's pet snake.

"_Yes. Excellent thinking, Henry."_

Carefully, Ptolemy took out Violet from her terrarium.

"_Violet, Professor Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore, Violet."_

"_Pleased to meet you."_

"_DID I JUST HEAR A SNAKE TALKING?" _Albus was on the verge of hysterics.

"_Yes. Henry's invention. The Parselmouth Potion. It allows anyone to gain temporary abilities as a Parselmouth."_

"_Can I sit down?"_

Ptolemy held out a chair for him, and Albus let himself fall into it.

"_Am I still speaking Parseltongue?"_

"_Yes."_

"_How do you switch back to English?"_

Ptolemy closed his eyes for a second, then replied: "Can you answer me?"

"Yes."

"We're talking English again. What's the difference? I didn't hear any when I was just talking in it..."

"_Concentrate. Do you hear the difference?"_

"_There's an underlying hissing... sort of. It's difficult to describe."_

"_It is. Now, what do you think?"_

"_Henry?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Did you do that alone?"_

"_Of course. I had the idea a week or so after I woke up."_

"_That's... pretty much one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. Why did you run out of the classroom?"_

"_Dragon blood... it can be used for healing purposes and to stabilise a potion, right? Well, many of the ingredients were a bit toxic, so I had to counter-act that somehow, and they didn't work too well together either. Dragon blood was ideal for both tasks. I can't believe I didn't think of it any sooner!"_

"_Actually, that's pretty advanced for a twelve-year-old. But, I've got a question."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Why did you make this potion?"_

"_Three things: One, because I could, and two, because, well, if everyone can gain the same abilities as a Parselmouth with just a potion, then there's not much ground for hating Parseltongue's, because everyone could do it. Three... well, if I could manage to adapt it to other blood-based gifts, that would be a start to do pretty much anything. Could you imagine how useful it would be to temporarily gain Metarmorphmagus abilities? Or I could try to change it so one could communicate with other Magical Creatures, not just snakes. Try a Potion that allows dragon trainers to talk to their dragons. So many rampages and so much death averted by being able to talk..." _

The first reason had Albus smiling. Because I can. It was the reason he'd tried to discover the uses for dragon blood. The other two, they... they tugged at his heart. This potion could revolutionize the world.

"_May I repeat my comment from earlier? This is amazing."_

Albus wondered what the boy would do in a few years, if he could already invent such a potion.

"_Do you think this would be enough to gain a Potions Mastery?"_

Albus was pretty sure, that yes, it was.

* * *

Henry liked Professor Dumbledore. He was a great teacher, and one of his heroes. The man who had discovered the twelve uses of dragon blood!

In the beginning, he had felt honoured to even breath the same air as him. That had changed during their teacher-student time. He had taken a genuine liking to the man who would always tell him about transfiguration and alchemy. He wasn't very good at the latter yet, although Professor Dumbledore was of the opinion that he was light years ahead of other kids his age, anyway. Henry privately disagreed. Surely, he wasn't that much of an exception!

And now, he had tested his potion for him. Even though it might have been potentially dangerous. This man had trusted Henry's abilities with his life.

It made Henry feel proud. Especially now, when nightmares were coming. He saw a route through his dreams, a place to be opened with a Parseltongue command, a giant snake, and a girl with red hair. And the feeling that he had just gotten to know something, something important.

He didn't know what that meant. He just had the feeling he wouldn't like whatever was going to happen.

Exactly one day after Henry's discovery, a frantic owl found Professor Dumbledore during a discussion between the two of them and Ptolemy. His face turned ashen.

"What is it, Professor?"

"A student has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets... I have to return to Hogwarts immediately."

Chamber of Secrets. Something in Henry's head clicked. His nightmares. He had to come with the Professor.

"I'll come with you."

"What?"

"Professor, I have to come with you."

"Why?"

"I... don't quite know. I just know that I have to."

"Premonition?", Ptolemy asked.

Henry nodded.

"I don't know why. Something with a chamber, a girl with red hair, and..." … the feeling he would find some answers.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Professor Dumbledore closed his eyes, and sighed.

"I'll take you with me, then."

He slung his arm around Henry's shoulder when a large bird appeared in a column of flames.

A phoenix. Henry was awed. He'd never seen one before.

And then, they disappeared in a wash of fire.

Albus Dumbledore's office was simply fascinating, Henry found. Unfortunately, he didn't have any time to admire it.

He ran out of it, as fast as he could, and then down, left, right, up again, down again... until he came to a halt in front of an bathroom door.

A girls' bathroom.

He drew a deep breath before he entered. He so hoped nobody saw him...

And then, he was inside, standing in front of a sink.

"What are you doing here? You aren't a student here."

Well, obviously. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, after all. Then he took note of who had said that. A ghost girl.

He turned to the sink again.

"_Open."_

Slowly, a tunnel, no, a pipe that went down was revealed. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets...

He went into it and started sliding down.

It seemed to go on forever. At some point, he heard the entrance closing again, and still, he slid down.

When it finally ended, he landed uncomfortably on his backside on a cold stone floor.

He stood up, cursing softly under his breath, and went along.

There was slime and grime everywhere, and yet, Henry had a strange impression of _home_. As if he belonged here. This chamber was his, in a way he couldn't explain. He didn't have to fear anything as long as he was in here, he felt. He was safe.

Of course, he knew that was not the case. There was a "Monster of Slytherin" on the loose, and a young girl had been brought here for the express purpose of her skeleton lying here forever. That meant that logically, it wasn't safe at all.

Logic didn't change how he was feeling, though.

Suddenly, he saw a giant piece of shredded green snake skin. That serpent must have been enormous! He wanted to have a nice, long talk with it at some point.

Wait, giant snake skin? Didn't most people think of giant snakes as monsters? Slytherin's symbol was a serpent... was the monster of Slytherin a snake? Which types of giant snakes did he know?

Well, the only one he could remember was the basilisk, but there hadn't been any in Britain for four hundred years or so now...

But, well, basilisk could easily reach an age in the hundreds of years. If no one had seen any, it didn't mean they weren't there.

He knew this damn guess was correct. Unfortunately.

Or, perhaps, luckily? Maybe he could talk the Serpent King or Queen out of whatever madness was possessing them to attack students.

He went on, following the tunnel, until finally, after yet another turn, he saw a wall, with two entwined serpents.

"_Open"_, he hissed, and then, the serpents parted from each other and the wall opened.

Henry entered the room. The main room of the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was beyond worried. Where was Henry? He'd grown to care for the boy, and he had no idea where he was, in a school with a monster on the loose.

He just hoped nothing would happen to him. The whole matter had been taken out of his hands, and he could do nothing but praying that all went well.

* * *

**Yes. A cliffhanger. I know I am evil. **


	3. Into the Chamber

**Into the Chamber**

The Chamber of Secrets was enormous, and not very well lit, with a greenish, eerie, and yet in Henry's mind, comforting kind of light.

Henry sort of wished he could see better. He could feel in every bone in his body that this was home, his birthright. The giant, snake-enwined pillars seemed to welcome him into this place, the silence seemed natural, and right in front of him, there was the giant statue of someone who seemed _familiar_ to Henry, an old man with a long narrow beard, as high as the chamber.

And in between the two grey stone feet of this rock-made friend lay a small figure, clad in a black cloak, with flaming red hair.

He came closer. It was the girl from his dreams. He didn't know her name; yet, he was worried for her. He knew he had to protect her. She was lying there, all cold and still, with her eyes closed.

He knelt beside her, shaking her, trying to make her wake up.

"Hey, wake up! Wake up!"

He wanted to draw his wand and try whether a well place _Aguamenti _would wake her, but he wasn't sure he wouldn't get water into her nose.

"Whoever you are, wake the hell up! This is not a good place to take a nap!"

He knew he was being silly now. But, what else could he do?

"You're gonna catch a cold if you lie on this cold stone floor any longer! WAKE UP!"

Of course, she didn't wake up.

"She won't wake", a quiet voice said.

Henry looked up. There stood a boy. His heart nearly stopped.

It was like looking into a mirror. The only differences between them were eyes, age, and hair. While Henry's hair was almost untameable, the other boy's was neat, and while Henry was twelve (nearly thirteen!), the boy was older, probably around sixteen. He looked strangely unreal, as if he wasn't quite there, a little on the misty side of things. And his eyes were dark grey, and cold, so cold.

"Who are you?", Henry asked.

"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle." Marvolo... his middle name. His father's name. His grandfather's middle name. A relative of his! Looks and name. They had to be related.

"Nice to meet you. Could you please help me get the girl out?"

The boy raised an eyebrow, and Henry suddenly had an epiphany. There was only one student reported as missing. A girl. No boy. And the longer he looked at him, the more he felt the other one wasn't quite trustworthy...

"Why should I?"

Was he the one who had opened the Chamber? Yes, yes he was, his gift told him. And there was something else about him. Flashes appeared before Henry's eyes, of this very girl, writing into a black diary...

He looked around, and spotted one that looked identical. He picked it up, carefully. T. M. Riddle. It had been made fifty years prior.

"Yours." It wasn't really a question. More of a statement.

"Yes."

Henry felt strange. This diary... it felt dark... and incomplete. As if there was some magical parasite hidden inside it. And there was some connection to the other boy.

"You know, you aren't quite what I expected. I hoped that Longbottom would come. I am wondering how he ever defeated the greatest wizard of all times as a mere baby..."

"Who do you mean? The greatest wizard of all times is entirely arguable. Depending on one's point of view, it could be either Merlin, or Albus Dumbledore. The greatest contributor to the Dark Arts was Herpo the Foul, and the greatest witch was definitely Morgan le Fey. So, who do you mean?"

"I meant Lord Voldemort."

"Really? The guy defeated by a _one-year-old_? No way. And besides, what does he have to do with you? And with this diary? And what the hell happened to the girl?"

"To poor, little, dumb Ginny Weasley? Oh, that is a long story... The reason she is lying here, you see, is that she trusted an invisible stranger, and poured her heart out to him."

"What are you talking about?" Henry deliberately used his reserved-for-morons voice.

"About the diary. _My_ diary. Little Ginny wrote about all her little, unimportant woes, how her brothers are prats, how she had to come to Hogwarts with second-hand books and robes, how she believes that no one will ever spare her a glance..."

One word flashed through Henry's mind. His gift was more than active right now, in this strange chamber, that still felt so much like home, apart from this... _thing _or whatever was standing in front of him.

Riddle wasn't quite human. The sentiment echoed through his blood and bones. And yet, there was a familiarity about him. He should know Riddle. He knew that. The other boy looked so much like him. He could be his cousin or something. He was split between hope and distrust, one felt by his gift, the other by his heart.

"It was so_ boring_, listening to the worries of an eleven-year-old girl", Riddle added. "But I was patient. I wrote back, showed empathy, I was nice to her. She simply _loved_ me. _No one understands me better than you, Tom... I am so happy that I can entrust myself to this diary... It's like a friend I can keep in my pocket..._"

Riddle laughed. It was cold, high, and didn't really suit him. It gave Henry goosebumps.

"I can claim that I was always rather good at being charming to those I needed. Little Gin-Gin emptied her heart, and that was exactly what I needed. I got stronger and stronger, because I could nurture myself with her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew stronger, so much stronger than little Miss Weasley... Strong enough to feed some of my secrets to her, to pour some of my soul into her..."

Henry felt Riddle was waiting for a sign to continue, to triumph cacklingly over his unwitting enemy. It was rather dumb, telling everything to somebody else before you had achieved your triumph, but, well, gloating seemed to suit Riddle quite well, no matter how stupid it was, and it bought Henry time and information.

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you yet guess? Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She killed the roosters and smeared the threats on the wall. She released the Serpent of Slytherin upon the four mudbloods and upon the cat of that squib."

That part of the monologue was finally full of useful information. It paid to let the enemy gloat. Not only had Henry been brought up-to-date with the recent happenings at Hogwarts, but he also knew that Riddle had possessed the girl. Coupled with coming out of the diary, that left only one possibility...

Riddle was a horcrux of someone. He didn't know how he knew about horcruxes. It was just one of these bits of information that seemed to come from the life he couldn't remember, the life that had given him such a well of knowledge he could draw from.

He also didn't know where his absolute certainty came from. It was just one of the perks of his gift. He would have to write a report for Croaker in which he described it. Of course, his current stress level at "In danger of death at any time" might be playing a part.

"Of course, in the beginning, she didn't know what she was doing... It was rather funny, to see how she started doubting herself, her panicked reaction to those times she woke up without any memory of what happened... you should have seen what she wrote. In the end, she finally started distrusting me, and threw me into Moaning Myrtle's toilet. Of all places. And then, Neville Longbottom found me. I tried to lure him here, you see. And instead of him, of someone I could use, you come."

Riddle stared at him, hungrily.

"It is rather... interesting, looking at you", the boy stated.

"Likewise."

Who was Riddle? Tom Marvolo Riddle...

"You're fifty years old, correct?"

The boy raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

That meant that the other boy could be his grandfather or something. Yes, his gift insisted that this was his grandfather. Paternal grandfather, actually. But why...

"Why are you so interested in Voldemort? He was after your time."

"You're clever. Guess. Tom Marvolo Riddle... just a little rearranging is needed."

He tried to imagine it.

"I am Vord Moldelort?"

Riddle made a face. "Lord Voldemort. A great name, for the greatest of wizard. Did you think I wanted to wear the name of my dirty _Muggle_ father forever? I, who am I of the greatest of lines? In whose veins the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself flows?"

Great. His grandfather was a pure-blood supremacist Dark Lord. How much of an idiot could you be? To try and conquer the Wizarding World had never worked, not a single time. Why should oneself be any different? And even better, his grandfather was a _pure-blood supremacist_ and a _half-blood_. Couldn't he just off himself first to cleanse wizarding blood or whatever the correct turn of phrase in those crazy minds was and be done with it?

"I'm sticking to Moldelort, _Grandpa_."

"You know, it isn't very insulting, using a term used to describe a family member to mock my age."

Henry smiled. So he hadn't guessed. He repressed the urge to tell him that yes, you're actually my grandfather. Gloating was not a good habit, and he would not inherit it.

"Whatever you say, Grandpa. By the way, where's your snakey friend? I'd like to be introduced."

"You think you can take on the basilisk? Well, you can certainly try." Riddle smiled a cold smile, while Henry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He definitely hadn't gotten his brains from his grandfather.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four."_ The Chamber of Secrets could only be opened by the Heir of Slytherin. Riddle had opened the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle was his grandfather.

He was descended from Salazar Slytherin, and the nice statue he admired on his way here belonged to him. That's where he'd gotten his Parseltongue abilities from.

He was related to the Gaunts, the most inbred and idiotic family in all of Britain. Could his family tree get any worse? Two Dark Lords and hundreds of morons. It was a wonder he had any ability to think at all.

Henry turned around, to see the giant stone face move, and its mouth open itself, wider and wider, until there was enough space for something very, very large.

And something started to move inside this mouth, something started to crawl out of its deepness. The basilisk was coming.

For a moment, Henry pondered the implications of something large and longish, like a snake, coming out of or into a mouth. Then he was sorely tempted to obliviate himself. Wrong mental image.

The basilisk fell onto the floor with a loud thud that shook the chamber. Henry looked at him. A female, as it seemed.

Henry picked up the diary.

"_Hello, my friend."_, he said.

Tom gasped.

"_You're a parselmouth!"_

"_How did you think I got into this place, Gramps? By the way, what is your name, Serpent Queen?"_

"_Elizabeth, or Bessie."_

Bessie the Basilisk. Henry resisted the urge to snicker.

"_Kill him!"_, Riddle was shouting.

"_Whom?"_

"_The other boy!"_

"_But he is of Old Master's line!"_

"_What? But I am the last of the..."_ Riddle turned to him, eyes open like saucers.

"_I did warn you, didn't I, Grandpa? Bessie, if you would be so nice to catch this?"_

Before Riddle could do anything, Henry had thrown the diary into Bessie's mouths direction.

"_NOOOOOO!"_ While his grandfather was busy screaming his head off, Bessie raised her head, and bit, directly onto the diary.

Riddle disappeared, and Bessie let the mangled diary fall out of her mouth.

"_Where has young Master gone?_"

"_Long story. Could you close your eyes please?"_

"_Alright."_

He looked at the girl. Ginny Weasley. She was slowly opening her eyes and moaning.

"_I am hungry." _Henry ignored Bessie. The girl was in worse condition. He had come here to help, after all, and she'd just been possessed. A little hunger was nothing versus the after-effects of being drained of one's life force and possession.

"_Can I eat her?"_

"_No."_

"_Just nibble a little?"_

"_I said 'No', Bessie."_

"_You're no fun."_

While he was concentrating on the Basilisk, the girl had sat up.

She immediately shrieked back from him, gasping: "Tom!"

He turned to look at her, slightly annoyed. "You're confusing me with someone, namely, the evil soul piece hidden in a diary who dragged you here and drained your life-force."

"You're... not Tom." Very quick on the uptake, indeed. He decided to cut her some slack. After all, one's brain might be a little addled after such an ordeal.

"No, I'm not Tom."

"I'm sorry, it's just, you look an awful lot like him, and I didn't really get a good look at you..." Oh... right, he'd turned to look into Bessie's direction. Ordeal-addled brain plus only half a face definitely equalled a greater chance for confusing people.

"It's okay. You've been through quite a lot."

She looked slightly greenish.

"It's all my fault..."

"It's not."

"B-but I petrified everyone. It's my fault Hermione, Colin, Justin, Nearly Headless Nick and Penelope are in the hospital wing..." She sniffed.

Henry didn't know these names, except for Nearly Headless Nick. He decided to try and comfort her.

"Look, you did not petrify anyone. The basilisk here did. Giant, shining green snake, can you spot her? Of course, it isn't really her fault, either, because I'm pretty sure she's bound to follow orders whenever someone with the correct bloodline comes along. And those orders were given by someone named Tom Marvolo Riddle, not by you. The fact that he was possessing your body at that moment is totally irrelevant. If you'd tried that, she wouldn't have followed your orders, because as far as I know, you're not a Parselmouth and not in the least way related to old Serpent-tongue."

"Serpent-tongue?"

"That guy over there. Nice, small little statue behind you."

Ginny turned around.

"Who is that?"

"Salazar Slytherin. I sincerely hope you've heard of him."

"I have. I'm not stupid, you know."

"Could have fooled me."

She turned around, and slapped him, her face contorted in fury.

Henry's eyes widened in surprise. That _hurt!_

"That felt good. You're really a smart-aleck, right?" She was massaging her hand.

"Uh... yeah, yes I am. Sorry. It's just, I'm not really used to dealing with people my age." And he sort of got like that whenever he felt grumpy.

"You're not? Well, you're obviously not going to Hogwarts, but aren't you going to school somewhere?"

"No. I woke up a few months ago with no knowledge about me but my name, my name's history, and my birthday. Someone found me, and I've been living with them since then. I'm being home-schooled."

"That's... kind of sad."

"My guardian's great. A really nice guy, believe me. Weren't we talking about you, actually?"

She smiled shyly.

"Yeah, we were."

"So, feeling any better?"

"Not really."

"You're still blaming yourself?"

"I was an idiot, trusting Tom. And my hand hurts."

He couldn't say a lot against that. It had been idiotic, trusting an enchanted book. And he would not comment on her hand. Or his cheek. It was still flaming. Stupid smart-aleck tendencies.

"You're how old again?"

"Eleven."

"Do you know who Tom Marvolo Riddle went on to become?"

She shook her head.

"Rearrange the letters of his name. They spell: 'I am Lord Voldemort.' There were hundreds of people he fooled. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. I'm pretty sure it actually took amazing strength of will to not succumb to him after a month or so."

All true, without addressing the issue that yes, amazing strength of will was fine. When coupled with a few brain cells that could actually distrust. But he was pretty sure he was being world-weary and cynical about it, and normally, people only learnt healthy distrust after something major happened.

Such things normally came with age, after all.

"Lord V-voldemort?"

"Yes. Tom Marvolo Riddle is Lord Voldemort."

"I trusted _You-Know-Who_?!"

"Yes. I'm pretty sure he can be rather charming, when he isn't busy being an arrogant, airheaded slimebag."

Ginny was gaping. What, was she astonished he'd just insulted the guy?

Bessie moved.

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

"The basilisk... it's still alive?"

"Yes. Bessie here actually helped me get rid of Riddle."

"Bessie? You named the _Monster of Slytherin_ Bessie?"

"That's her name."

"How do you know that?"

"She told me. Bit on the diary for me, too, after I asked her nicely."

Ginny looked at him, disbelieving. Then, she cracked up, and started laughing.

Henry patiently waited while she laughed. He was pretty sure that after a great shock, insane laughter could be a normal reaction. Just like hitting someone who was being annoying.

She calmed down, then, she seemed to realize something.

"You're a Parselmouth. You said only a descendant of Salazar Slytherin could give the basilisk orders."

"You know, since I woke up without memories, I wanted to find out where I come from. Parents, grandparents, everything. And then I come here, and..."

He couldn't continue. Finally, realization truly hit him. He had tried to be suave and cool about it, but... his _grandfather_ was a murderer. A monster. He had the blood of a Dark Lord flowing through his veins.

That was what had happened to his dreams of family. He was related to a monster. Not one like Bessie, naïve and just doing what she was told. No, a monster that was as horrible as it was because it had consciously _chosen_ to be like this.

"What is it?"

"It's just... Riddle... see, I wanted to know about my family, and, well, you noted how he looks like me... he was born fifty years ago, and, well, I'm pretty sure that he's, well..."

He knew he'd started babbling. Still, he couldn't voice the truth. He didn't want to hear it. Somehow, if he said it now, it would become more real.

"You're related to him?"

He nodded.

"I'm pretty sure I've just met my grandfather."

Suddenly, he was enveloped by a hug.

"If it isn't my fault that I trusted that diary, then it's much less your fault who your grandfather is."

He wanted to say something sarcastic about how he knew, when he found that, yes, the words helped. Because it did sting that his grandfather was a Dark Moron. And he had been sort of afraid that the only kid his age he knew would hate him upon hearing the news. It felt good, knowing that she didn't blame him for an accident of birth.

He tore back from the hug.

"Come on. Let's get out of here."

"How?"

"_Bessie? Do you know how to get out of here?"_

"_Just say 'stairs' at the entrance."_

"_You can't carry us or something?"_

"_Nope. I barely fit into the pipe any more. Whenever I was let out, young Master had to go up by himself, and then make the stairs disappear so that I could come after him."_

"_Darn. Well, bye, Bessie!"_

"_Goodbye, little Master."_

And so, Henry and Ginny went on their way back to the Chamber's entrance.

* * *

**AN: You will recognize some parts of Riddle's speech(es) from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, as well as the basics of the Chamber's description. These are JKR's, not mine. I'm not sure how much I followed the book, as I re-translated most parts that look similar/the same from the German edition I have at home.**


	4. Out of the Chamber

**Out of the Chamber**

After much too much time spent climbing up seemingly endless stairs, Ginny and Henry finally reached the top of the staircase.

"Finally", Henry said. He was gasping for breath. He did not like long, winded staircases. Not at all. There were just a few steps left, his head was finally sticking above ground.

"Tom?"

A round-faced, chubby boy with blond hair was standing there, together with a red-headed boy who kind of resembled Ginny.

"What is it with people confusing me with the guy who opened this chamber?"

"Tom Riddle opened the Chamber?", the round-faced boy asked for clarification.

"Yes."

"Who are you?", the red-headed boy butted in.

Henry felt those two were friendly. They just were rather worried, at the moment. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't miffed.

"I'm the one who went down there, faced a murderous version of a sixteen-year-old Lord Voldemort, destroyed it, and came back up with the girl he dragged with him."

Ginny's head appeared beside him.

"Ginny! You're here!", the red-head exclaimed.

"Yes. I am here, and still alive and kicking." She grinned at the other boy.

The two of them took the last steps up the stairs.

"He saved you?"

"He did. Can we go to Professor Dumbledore's office now, please?" They'd decided upon that for a destination. The Headmaster should be informed of recent developments, after all.

"Dumbledore is back?"

"He is. I arrived with him."

"We'll show you the way. You're not a student here, right?"

"No, I'm not, and thank you."

They had reached the end of the bathroom, and with the other two boys, made their way to the Headmaster's office.

"Ron, Neville?", Ginny asked.

"Yeah?"

"Could the two of you wait outside?"

"Uh, okay", blond hair said.

"Thank you."

After Henry begged the Gargoyle to let him in, they climbed the stairs, until they stood outside the office door.

They entered.

* * *

When Albus Dumbledore heard Henry tell his story, he couldn't quite believe it. When Henry presented his conclusion of what the diary was, he was trying to puzzle out how the boy even knew that this kind of thing existed.

But the hardest part for Albus was when Henry asked him: "Sir... you knew Tom, didn't you?"

He swallowed. "Yes, he was a student here when I was still a teacher for Transfiguration."

"You recognized our similarities when you first met me, didn't you?"

"Yes." He closed his eyes. Guilt swelled up. He'd promised. He'd said "I will.", "I promise."

And he'd made that promise without ever intending to keep it.

"You knew."

"I guessed." He still hadn't opened his eyes. He was expecting a scolding, white-hot fury every second, and it would be entirely deserved.

"Thank you."

He opened his eyes, wide in shock.

"Pardon?"

"I said 'Thank you'. Honestly, your age must influence your hearing. Okay, that was a bad joke, but... I mean it. Thank you for not telling me that tidbit. It was infinitely better not to know."

Had Henry really just said that?

"That's... I was sort of expecting you to be really angry at me for withholding information."

"I guess I would be, but... it's not really changing what I have or want to do. It's just giving me doubts and nightmares of turning out like my Grandfather, or reminding me that I have some really, really horrible, stupid relatives on his mother's side. That isn't exactly what I needed to know when you first met me. If you withheld from me information like 'You'll have to defeat the Dark Lord sometime', _then_ I'd be angry, because I could have used quite a lot of training, and without that knowledge, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have given it to me or I wouldn't have applied myself, if you catch my drift."

Albus Dumbledore was doubly happy he'd chosen to tell Augusta the Prophecy. She'd prepared young Neville well, without filling his head with thoughts about how great he was.

"That's a rather mature answer."

"Thank you, sir. Now, what are we going to do? I mean, Ginny's parents will need to be told something, and the Wizarding World in general will need some story as well. I mean, some sort of press release is needed."

Ms. Weasley perked up here. That was apparently something she wanted to know, too.

"I guess the whole truth is pretty much out of question."

Both Henry and Ms. Weasley nodded.

"Nobody needs to know about Henry's family connections", added Ms. Weasley.

"Would you like people to know that you went down there, Henry?"

Henry looked up.

"No. No, I don't want to be hounded by the press."

"So, what should we tell? How about that an Unspeakable expert was called in and found a solution? It isn't too far from the truth, anyway."

"That would work. But, what should we tell your parents, Ginny? I don't know them, so..."

"I guess sticking with the truth would be the best, more or less." Ginny looked slightly green while she said that.

"Okay... so, I can go home now, right?"

"Yes, well, you could..."

That was the moment a rather angry Lucius Malfoy came in.

And stopped dead in his tracks after looking at Henry.

"Master! …."

Albus could see Henry squirming. "You're confusing me with someone."

Lucius Malfoy's face went ashen. He'd just basically confirmed every single suspicion Albus had ever had, and he obviously knew it.

"Headmaster, didn't the memo of your suspension reach you?"

And Albus Dumbledore went into the explanation of how he was still here, ending with a few half-threats, upon which Lucius Malfoy stormed out angrily.

Afterwards, Albus would be told the highly amusing story of how Neville Longbottom managed to free the house elf with a bit of trickery and a sock, but now, he took Henry home.

* * *

Henry was feeling like lead when he came home, mainly from climbing lots and lots of stairs. He really, really hated stairs.

When he told Ptolemy what had happened, his cool was gone, and he burst into tears. He didn't want to have an idiotic monster as a grandfather. He wanted _parents._ Actual parents, that cared for him, and loved him. Not a family history that seemed like having been taken out of some family drama!

* * *

Ptolemy didn't know what to do.

Henry was sobbing, like the twelve-year-old boy he was, and Ptolemy had no idea how to treat him like a child, for once. Sure, his sense of wonder was child-like, but his sarcasm about any- and everything pretty much helped. He hadn't ever seen him cry before.

"_Hey, kid, it's okay... There's no need to cry, Henry..._"

The boy sobbed even harder, then, suddenly, he stopped.

"_You must think I'm a baby."_

"_I don't. You've just gone into shock, kid. Happens to anyone."_

"_I don't want him to be my family."_

Yes, he could understand that sentiment.

"_Does it change who you are?"_

"_What? No, I don't think so, why?"_

"_Because it doesn't matter, Henry. You're still Henry Evans, child prodigy, Unspeakable trainee, Parselmouth. And now, let's speak about something else. How would you like to take your Potions Mastery Exam this summer?"_

"_Really? I could? Don't you think I'm a little young?"_

"_You're ready, that's what matters. Come on, I'll file the forms. You'll be the youngest English Potions Master ever!"_

A smile spread on Henry's face.

"_That would be great."_

* * *

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore had called Ginny and Ronald Weasley, as well as Neville Longbottom, into his office.

"Ms. Weasley, I guess you know what this is about. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, do you remember the events of a few hours ago?"

"When that boy appeared and claimed he'd helped Ginny?"

"Exactly. Now, he did tell you the truth, but I'm afraid, Mr.s Weasley and Longbottom, that you should not, I repeat, should not reveal this to anyone."

"Why?", Mr. Weasley asked.

"What do you think would happen if it was known what that boy did? The press would hound him for sure. Mr. Longbottom, I am sure you can remember how some of those reporters are."

"Vultures. So... we shouldn't tell anyone about him, because them vultures would try and descend on him?"

"Yes, that is what I mean. Instead, the information will be released that an Unspeakable went down there."

Ms. Weasley was frowning. "You said before something about how that that wasn't too far from the truth, anyway. What did that mean?"

"I fear that is an answer you must ask Mr. Evans yourself when you meet him. Now, just in case, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

* * *

A few days later, Henry was finally introduced to most of the other Unspeakables, with the codename "Aenrichus". Most codenames were more nicknames, anyway, but in this case, it had been shortened to "Richus" just a few seconds after he had been introduced.

His colleagues' respect for him had gone up several notches after his qualifications had been read to them, and most were pretty sure that he would make a good Potioneer. They needed more of those, anyway. When his interest in Wards was brought up, there were several who really, really wanted to teach him.

He was called "bright", "charming", "clever", and variations of those more often than he could count in the next few days.

All in all, his life was rather nice.


	5. Visiting the Weasleys

**Visiting the Weasleys**

It was a rather normal workday for Ptolemy, until he decided, on a whim, to go and meet the father of the girl his ward had been talking about for the last week, a certain Arthur Weasley.

He was standing in the office of the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office right now, and felt rather nervous.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley."

"Good afternoon, Mr...?"

"Hohenheimer. Markus Hohenheimer."

"Not to be impolite, but could you be quick about whatever you wanted to do? I promised my wife I'd be on time for dinner today..."

"You're Ginny Weasley's father, right?"

He saw the man's shoulders tense.

"Yes."

"Has she told you about Henry? Henry Evans?"

Mr. Weasley looked at him, slightly wide-eyed. He nodded.

"He's my ward. I'd wondered if you'd be entirely opposed to allow them to meet up?"

"No... that wouldn't be a problem. Where's he now?"

Most likely in Potions Lab 3 in the Department of Mysteries.

"Probably somewhere around my office."

It wasn't a lie. Not technically.

"Why don't the two of you come with me to dinner? I'm sure Ginny will be more than happy."

"Are you sure your wife won't mind?"

"Your ward saved my daughter, Mr. Hohenheimer. From certain death. I don't think Molly will mind the two of you coming over."

"I see. So, how about we meet up near the Apparition points in ten minutes?"

"I think that would be for the best. See you later, Mr. Hohenheimer."

"See you later, Mr. Weasley."

* * *

And so, ten minutes later, a very nervous Henry and a rather amused Ptolemy were standing in front of the corridor with the Apparition points.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hohenheimer. I assume this is Henry?"

"Good afternoon. Yes, that's my ward."

"Good afternoon, sir."

"I'm Mr. Weasley, not sir. Would you mind if I side-alonged you, Mr. Hohenheimer?"

"I wouldn't mind."

After they apparated, Ptolemy got a good look on Henry's expression.

The boy was positively green. He obviously did not enjoy apparition.

They were standing in front of a house that was only held up by magic. It was a piece of impossible architecture that gave off an aura of home. Ptolemy immediately liked it, and he could see Henry's expression brighten as he looked at it. The only home the boy knew was his room deep in the D.o.M.

"Molly, I'm home!"

With those words, Arthur Weasley entered the house.

"Uh... Molly, I brought guests."

"_Really._ And whom did you bring?" Mrs. Weasley had gone into typical husband-scolding-mode.

"May I introduce Henry Evans and his guardian, Markus Hohenheimer?"

"The same Henry Evans who..."

"The very same."

"I see." Her tone was a lot warmer, all of a sudden.

"Ginny, Ron, Fred, George, Percy! We have guests!", she shouted up the stairs.

"Mr. Hohenheimer, pleased to meet you", she greeted Ptolemy.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well." They shook hands.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley." Henry took Mrs. Weasley's hand.

"Hello, Henry." Her tone had turned particularly warm when talking to Henry. Ptolemy was reminded that the girl Henry had saved was_ her _daughter. It was no wonder she would be partial to the boy.

Then, there was the sound of people rushing down the stairs, and five Weasley siblings appeared. Four boys, and one girl.

All of them were staring at the two of them, but the youngest boy and the girl were staring particularly hard. The girl was blushing beet red.

Ptolemy turned his gaze to his charge. He was also staring, caught frozen, as if he had never had seen such a thing before.

And he hadn't, Ptolemy reminded himself. He'd never seen so many children. Hell, he had never seen any other children before, except in a situation where that definitely wasn't his focus.

Then, two of the boys – identical twins – came downstairs.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr..."

"Hohenheimer, Markus Hohenheimer. This is my ward, Henry Evans."

The twins gaped at Henry.

"Uh... pleased to meet you."

That shook them out of their stupor.

"I am Fred Weasley, and this is my brother, George", said the left twin.

"It's quite nice to meet you", said the right twin.

The remaining siblings came downstairs.

"Percy Weasley, pleased to meet you, Mr. Hohenheimer, Henry."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hohenheimer. I'm Ron."

The girl didn't say anything. She just threw her arms around Henry's neck. Poor Henry froze again, and Ptolemy couldn't hide a grin. It was strange, seeing Henry act like a normal twelve-year-old boy. He could understand theories most grown-ups had problems with. Actually, he was working on dispelling theories most grown-ups had problems with.

When Henry didn't return the hug, she ended it, blushing again, and said: "Uh, sorry, Mr. Hohenheimer. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Ginny Weasley. Henry told me quite a lot about you." Henry didn't catch the intended double meaning, but the girl did. She blushed yet again.

Mrs. Weasley, meanwhile, had taken to finishing dinner preparations.

"Dinner's ready!"

All of them seated themselves around the table.

"So, Mr. Hohenheimer, you work at the Ministry as well?", asked Mr. Weasley.

"Yes, I do."

Ptolemy saw Percy Weasley perk up at these news.

He took a bite of his dinner. Whatever anyone could say about Mrs. Weasley, her dinner tasted like heaven.

"I'm sorry, but I've never met you before today. In what department do you work?"

Ptolemy was not sure at all how they'd react to the news. He'd known people that had run away screaming after being informed of his job. Most of them had been cowards though, and he was pretty sure the Weasleys didn't have any reputation for cowardice.

"It's no wonder you haven't met me. The Department of Mysteries is a rather isolated workplace."

He heard a fork clatter and fall down the table.

A red-faced Percy Weasley dove under the table to get it.

Arthur Weasley didn't look scared. He looked... angry?

"You said Henry was near your office. You let a twelve-year-old run around in the Department of Mysteries?!"

Oh. Right. Mrs. Weasley looked scandalized as well. Henry looked puzzled, as if he couldn't understand what on Earth all the commotion was about.

"I don't run. Running is strictly forbidden in the corridors. Well, sometimes I run, but I'm careful. You might crash into someone holding something explosive. Croaker lost his eyebrows last month because he wasn't careful."

"You know the Department Head?", Arthur Weasley asked faintly.

"Sure. He decided I could stay after I woke up in the Time Room."

"How did you get into the Time Room?", Arthur Weasley asked.

"I don't know. That's where my memories start. I've been staying in the Dom ever since."

He pronounced it doom, like any Unspeakable would. Ptolemy felt a rush of pride flow through him.

"Is that allowed?", Percy Weasley asked.

"Well, we got Minister Fudge to sign the papers making him an Unspeakable trainee officially", Ptolemy chipped in, proudly, but also wanting to make sure there would be no complaints. Fudge did _not_ need to hear about Richus.

"So... that news story about an Unspeakable rescuing Ginny wasn't total sh... I mean, totally wrong?", Mr. Weasley asked with a weary glance at Mrs. Weasley.

"I'm pretty sure it was about as accurate as possible without giving any hint towards Henry's identity or the issue with the diary."

Or without telling that Henry was a Parselmouth and the Dark Lord's grandson. Ptolemy wondered what either of them ever did to end up in such a situation.

The next few minutes passed in silence, then Ginny asked: "Henry, you said you're home-schooled... so, does Mr. Hohenheimer teach you stuff or who does?"

"Uh, well Ptolemy's teaching me, I mean, Mr. Hohenheimer, and Croaker, and Sheda, and Professor Dumbledore taught me while he was staying at the Department, and I'm also learning quite a lot on my own. Did you know that Golpalott's Third Law may be circumvented by simply finding a substance that is an antidote to _all_ the separate components? Of course, the most commonly used such substance is the Bezoar, but I am pretty sure that, if one used a blend of Bezoar powder and diluted phoenix tears, one could... did I say something wrong?"

The whole table was staring at him. Percy Weasley's mouth had fallen open.

"I did say something wrong. Uh... sorry? I'm not quite used to talking to people..."

Arthur Weasley jumped in. "You didn't say anything wrong. You just surprised us. You like Potions, I take?"

"Yeah. Potions are awesome. Kitty and Spinster are always saying that I'm a real prodigy at Potions."

"Kitty and Spinster?" Mr. Weasley looked at Ptolemy for help.

"Two of my colleagues, both Potions Mistresses and Healers. They're of the firm opinion that Henry's the second coming of Hippocrates or something. Especially when he goes of on one of his monologues about the medical properties of certain substances and how they can be combined through whatnot. Don't ask me, I'm not a Potions Master", he explained.

"What are you, then? I mean, I know I'm not actually supposed to know any details, but a general direction probably won't trouble anyone, will it?"

"I'm mainly working with Time and the practical applications of time-altering spells. It's a rather interesting field of study. And you're the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, of course."

Most everyone had finished dinner by now, and the children were getting impatient.

"Mum, can we get up?"

Mrs. Weasley turned to them. "It's may, Ronald, and yes, you're allowed to."

Eagerly, the boy jumped out of his seat, together with most of his siblings. Percy was rising out of his seat, too, but much more dignified than any of his siblings. Henry slowly got up as well, not quite knowing how to behave. Ptolemy knew he was insecure, because all he knew about table manners came from a quick description Ptolemy had given him directly before coming here.

The children – including Percy – were out of the house in the blink of an eye.

"You know, you can call me Ptolemy."

"I wanted to ask you about that. Wasn't your first name Markus?"

"It was, but, well, I never cared much for it, and in the end, my dear colleagues decided my second name made the better codename. Though the Unspeakable codenames are more nicknames, really."

"If we should call you Ptolemy, then call me Arthur."

"And I'm Molly."

"All right, Molly, Arthur."

* * *

Meanwhile, outside, the Weasley siblings were interrogating a very, very nervous Henry.

"So, you're the bloke who saved Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets."

Henry swallowed. It sounded... sort of accusing? He wasn't used to so many other kids being around. Grown-ups, he could cope with.

He nodded, not quite sure what else to do.

Suddenly, the twins decided to clap him on the back. He flinched. He was not used to that.

"Thanks. For saving Ginny from that evil Parselmouth."

"Parselmouths aren't all evil, you know."

The Weasley brothers stared at him as if he'd grown horns and a second head.

"He's one, too, you know", Ginny said, smiling at him. It was nice, having someone his age smile at him.

"Really? You're a Parselmouth? How? I mean, Parselmouths aren't...", the youngest brother stuttered.

"Probably because one of my parents was one. Or both. I don't know. It's an inherited trait, see, like hair colour. You aren't evil or good just because you have red hair."

The eldest brother spoke up. "But there are loads of Parselmouths who have been Dark Wizards!"

"And Loxias, Godelot, Egbert the Egregious, and Morgan le Fay had all red hair. That does not prove that every single person with red hair is a Dark Wizard. In fact, if hair was seen as a measure for evilness, most people who are either balding or brown-haired would suddenly all be evil."

The oldest brother was searching for an argument. He found one. "Tell me the names of _any_ good Parselmouth."

That one was easy. "Paracelsus, for example. Famous medical researcher, officially discovered Parseltongue, famous alchemist, as well. There was some debate about Hippocrates, but it isn't known whether he was a Parselmouth or not."

He kept Merlin for himself. He did not quite understand why everyone seemed to love Merlin so much, but the news he was a Slytherin Parselmouth would not be well received.

"But you can't do anything good with Parseltongue."

"Yes you can. There's quite a lot of magical creatures that can be convinced to back off after some conversation. Some of them are pretty dangerous, too. Basilisks, Chimaeras, Ashwinders, Runespoors, Occamies... well, any type of serpentine being, really. Have you ever heard the story of the Parselmouth who saved three children from an Occamy by convincing him that they were just hatchlings and did not want to harm his eggs?"

"Really?"

"Really."

The youngest brother, Ron, added something. "But snakes are slimy!"

_That_ was one genius argument. Henry had had enough, and fumbled in his pocket. Yes, he had the Potion with him.

"Hold still for a second, okay? Serpensortia!"

He conjured a snake, then, he opened the vial, and stuffed the liquid inside down Ron Weasley's throat.

The boy gasped for breath for a few seconds, then froze.

"_Snake!_" His brothers stared at him.

"_Yes. I am. You are a very good observer, do you know that?_" The boy gaped at the snake.

"_You can talk!_"

"_You know, you really have a gift for stating the obvious._"

"_May I pick you up?"_, Henry asked the snake.

"_Of course, Speaker."_ Gingerly, Henry picked up the snake, and lay him around Ronald's neck.

"Here. See? Not slimy at all."

"R-ron?", one of the twins asked.

"Yeah? Did you hear the snake? She can talk! _Hey that tickles!_" The snake was "sniffing" his cheek. Like all snakes, he was using his tongue to do so.

"What exactly was that stuff you poured down Ron's throat?", Ginny asked.

"Uh... Parselmouth Potion. The drinker will be able to speak Parseltongue for the next hour or so. It's really, really useful if you come into any type of situation where you face a serpentine being. Well, as long as you don't mind the swearwords when talking to Ashwinders..."

"Is it _safe_?", Percy asked.

"Sure. I mean, Professor Dumbledore tested it for me. It was pretty funny, seeing his face after he was talking to Ptolemy's pet snake."

"He tested it for you?"

"Yep. That's my own creation."

"_It's brilliant._" Ron was petting the conjured snake at the moment.

"_Thank you. By the way, you were speaking Parseltongue again._"

"_You know, it sounds just like English to me. Are you sure my siblings can't understand us?_"

"_Actually, I'm pretty sure your siblings are being thoroughly crept out at the moment."_

Ron looked around, at the horrified faces of his brothers and a Ginny who was trying to keep calm. A slow grin spread over his face.

"_Seems like it."_

"You created that yourself", Ginny stated.

"Yes."

"Do you think you could help me with my Potions homework?"

"Sure... what exactly is 'homework'?"

After being explained what that was, he promised to take down notes on anything related to Ginny's homework topic.

"Could you help us, as well?", one of the twins asked.

"Sure."

Just then, Molly Weasley came outside, and nearly had a heart attack upon seeing her son.

"Ron Weasley! What are you doing with a giant snake wrapped around your neck! You could get hurt!"

"Mum, he's harmless!" He was scratching the snake's chin.

"_Who's a nice snake? You are."_

"_Ron, your Mum doesn't know about the potion."_

"_She doesn't?" _Molly Weasley was growing increasingly horrified at the exchange.

"_No."_

"What... Ron?"

"Yes, Mum? Uh... you mean about the whole Parsel-thing... could you explain that bit, Henry?"

"Ron's testing an experimental potion that allows one to become a Parselmouth for the duration of one hour."

"An experimental potion? Is it safe?"

"Well, I created it. I'm pretty sure it is, why?"

The remaining grown-ups were coming outside, wondering where Molly and the kids were staying.

"Henry... you tested your potion", Ptolemy stated immediately upon seeing the snake around Ron's neck.

"Uh... yeah?"

"Next time, warn everyone in the vicinity. Including the parents of those you're testing it on. And never lay a snake around someone's neck who is neither a Parselmouth nor under the potion's influence."

"What potion? And why is that snake around Ron's neck?", Mr. Weasley asked.

"_You're a nice snake, yes you are... _Hey Dad._"_

"_Do not shock your parents, young man."_

"_You're a Parselmouth, too! You know, this Potion is really awesome. Do you think my parents would let me keep a snake? I mean, I don't have a pet, and snakes are awesome. They are really neat, you see. Well, as long as you can talk to them."_

Ptolemy apparently took pity on the elder Weasleys.

"A few days ago, Henry created a new potion. It allows people to talk Parseltongue for a limited period of time. I'm pretty sure your son has just drunk it. Don't worry, it'll wear of."

"That's... an interesting potion."

"Parselmouth Potion. Ronald, would you mind if I vanish your friend here?"

"Do you have to?"

"Sorry, but you can't just keep him. Evanesco."

The snake vanished.

"Mum, Dad, can I have a snake? Snakes are awesome."

And so, Henry and Ptolemy ended their first visits to the Weasleys.

* * *

A day later, Ron Weasley was writing a letter, still in a bit of an elated mood as he thought about the snake incident. Finally, something _he _was first to do and his brothers weren't! Something he could do better than them. They were all still afraid of snakes. Well, he wasn't. Snakes were neat, as long as one could talk to them, of course.

"Hello Nev,

Do you remember the boy who helped Ginny in the Chamber? His name's Henry, Henry Evans. Well, he and his guardian came for a visit, and he's a pretty cool guy. He's a real genius at Potions, and he decided to help all us with our Summer homework. I wonder what Snape'll do when I hand in my Potions essay this year. He'll go mental. So, anyway, Henry conjured a snake and gave me that potion, and I could understand him! The snake, I mean. It's called Parselmouth Potion, and it's really, really cool. Can you imagine all the payback we could give Potter with that Potion? Just a little dose and you can command any snake you want. Snakes are much nicer than I thought, anyway.

Well, a few days ago, Fred and George..."

* * *

**AN: Yes, Ron's positive reaction is mostly due to being the "special" brother for once. Also, as you can see, his and Neville's main rival is this universe's Potter, so you probably can guess that his animosity to Malfoy isn't quite that strong, so he doesn't have quite as much reason to hate Slytherins as Canon!Ron has.**


	6. The Youngest Potions Master

**The Youngest Potions Master**

Meanwhile, in another universe, more than a hundred years in the future, an amnesiac Harry James Potter woke up, not quite knowing what had happened, and yet, feeling oddly calm, and better than he ever had.

Now that he didn't remember his lost friends and family, he felt much better. There was nobody around who wanted to kill him, and if, he could defend himself.

It was nice, being an ancient warlock with lots and lots of power. No one dared attack him, now.

* * *

Fate, on the other hand, was discussing his methods with one of its servants.

"I don't understand. Why couldn't you let Henry Evans do his job himself?"

_Because he wouldn't get ready early enough. And he bore scars upon scars from being chased after all the time, always fearing for his life. On the other hand, Harry James Potter wanted another chance. They wanted each other's life, you see. I just gave them what they wanted._

"But... why?"

_Because I made a mistake in one universe, and I'm trying to correct it in the other, and well, the boy wouldn't have been able to. The one in his body now, he stands a chance._

"Will they ever find out the truth?"

Fate laughed.

_I don't think so. Maybe when both of them are dead. But until then, both of them can play the role I want them to play much better than the other._

And Fate's underling stayed silent.

* * *

A few days after the Weasley visit, Henry took his Mastery test. He passed with flying colours, one of the best to ever do so, and the World's youngest, too.

Ptolemy, Kitty and Spinster couldn't have been prouder, especially not when an article from Aenrichus Evans was immediately accepted by _Potions Today_, one of the most renowned Potions magazines, on Golpalott's Third Law and how it could be circumvented by not only bezoars, but also, if it was a blend of common poisons, the Antidote to Common Poisons, if it was a blend of uncommon poisons, the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons, if it was a blend of both, the newly invented Antidote to Minor Poisons, and if it was neither, a "General Antidote" would normally help, that included Bezoar powder, Phoenix tears, Basilisk venom, Dragon blood and some other, mainly rare substances, but would be able to counteract pretty much every known poison.

The article "_Exceptions to Golpalott's Third Law_" took the world of Potions by storm. Two newly invented Potions in one article, two highly useful ones, at that. Potioneers were debating whether the Antidote to Minor Poisons should replace the Antidote to Common Poisons and the Antidote to Uncommon ones altogether.

One of the Potions Masters for the change was Severus Snape. The potion took a bit longer than the other two, but it was relatively simple in comparison, and it was more useful. The more poisons were covered by something, the better. And showing his dunderheaded students this potion would simply not prove as much of a challenge as, well, most other potions. He did not like potions' accidents.

Something else gnawed at him, though. Aenrichus Evans was from Britain. Severus would have given his right hand to meet a Potions Master of such talent.

When he mentioned this to the headmaster, the old coot's eyes just twinkled, and he smiled mysteriously.

* * *

After the conversation with Severus about Britain's newest Potions Master, Albus had to control himself very hard before he was sure Severus couldn't hear him.

Then, he burst out laughing. He was trying to imagine Severus Snape reacting to the news that the Potions Master he practically worshipped was a twelve-year-old boy acquainted to "dunderheads Longbottom and Weasley". Taking a lemon drop after he had calmed down, he idly wondered whether Henry would mind trying to improve their taste even further.

* * *

Henry Evans was running in between brewing cauldrons, in four different Potions labs, with exactly one lab per experiment, but at least four or five cauldrons.

One was to try and capture a snake's magical signature and use this for the Parselmouth Potion instead of blood, then tweak it so that it could be used for any creature, one was a project given to him by Dumbledore, one was to improve the General Antidote so it could be produced much cheaper, and the last one was a long-term project to improve Polyjuice Potion to last longer.

The Translation Concoction project was coming along quite well, he might be finished in a few months, while Project Lemon Drop was close to finished. The top-secret Polyjuice experiment was his first project only for the DoM, and he felt he would need a little bit of luck for that one. He hadn't so far isolated the factors that determined how long the transformation lasted, but he was at the moment trying a rather promising combination that varied the amount of boomslang skin and the number of stirs immediately after. At least he could be sure it wouldn't explode in his face.

The General Antidote was giving him the biggest headache. He was working out the arithmantic properties of each ingredient, and it was coming along slowly. Very slowly. How could he find the right combination of ingredients so it would still work, but wouldn't be so expensive?

He needed some sort of rest. He decided to ask Ptolemy whether they could go visit the Weasleys for them. The notes for their homework had been finished in two days or so. It had been a bit of a review for his Potions Mastery, not that he'd really needed it.

Besides, he wanted to show Ginny his new certificate, and the article and some reactions to it.

The next Saturday, Ptolemy and Henry visited the Weasleys, Henry with a copy of his certificate in his bag, as well as the notes he'd made for their homework.

After greeting everybody, Henry was invited into Ginny's room by her. It was a small room, quite different from Henry's own. There weren't as many books, for once. Still, there was a bed, a desk, and a chair.

While Ginny seated herself on the bed, he sat down on the chair.

"So, how have you been?"

"Fine. I took my Potions Mastery."

"Really?"

"Really. Here, that's a copy of the certificate."

He showed it to her, proud of this achievement.

"That's... wow."

"I've broken the world record for youngest Potions Master." He couldn't stop himself from showing off. He wanted Ginny to... what exactly did he want?

She whistled. "You're a real genius, aren't you?"

He grinned. "Yes, yes I am."

"No need to get a big head."

She threw a cushion at him.

He threw it back, and their battle began. He was pelted with some stuffed animals, a blanket, and the cushion. Then, Ginny picked up a teddy, and hit him, repeatedly.

He picked up a stuffed dragon and hit right back, both of them laughing so hard they nearly suffocated.

As Henry was bigger than Ginny, he soon had the upper hand in the fight, so that she was cornered and had to jump onto the bed. Of course, Henry jumped up right after her, and then, suddenly, they weren't standing any more, but lying beside each other, still laughing.

Henry had seldom felt that good.

* * *

On Monday, Henry received a letter from another Potions Master, discussing several different theories concerning the very basics of Potions Making.

A highly intelligent letter spiked with sarcastic humour, Henry decided he liked the other Potioneer, a man named Severus Snape, after they exchanged several more letters.

Now that he was a Potions Master, he got a bit of extra-salary. That meant a bigger allowance.

His projects were coming along nicely, too. By the middle of summer, his "Improved Lemon-Drop recipe" was handed to one Albus Dumbledore. In between brewing, writing letters to other Potions Masters, and learning, learning, and some more learning, Henry was visiting the Weasleys. When they weren't in Egypt, of course.

There were lessons with several different people, in several different subjects. Of course, in Potions, no one could even attempt to teach him. But in other subjects, Henry Evans still had a lot to learn.

One of Henry's favourites were the Transfiguration lessons Albus Dumbledore had agreed to sometimes give him, in exchange for the Lemon-Drop recipe of all lemon drop recipes. Unlike Potions, it didn't come naturally to Henry. Or, as naturally as most other things. In fact, it was his weakest subject overall.

Still, he supposed he wasn't too bad in it.

Arithmancy and Charms lessons were with Ptolemy, as that was his speciality, and were mostly spent discussing theories on time. Well, his guardian couldn't help himself. It was fun, discussing Time and Fate and the theories on how and why time-turners worked. Also, there were theoretical Charms to slow down time, or to speed it up for a time. Working out how those might work was fun, Henry found. Of course, he mostly got duds, but he had found one spell together with Ptolemy that allowed one to make time pass a little faster around one, so waiting for something didn't seem quite as long. It wasn't exactly the most useful of spells, but Henry thought it was pretty cool nonetheless.

Pretty much everything else except Ancient Runes, he learnt with Croaker. The elderly man was upbeat, clever, and a fun teacher. It did help that most lessons were on highly interesting phenomena that were studied somewhere in the Department.

Ancient Runes, well, that was studied with an Unspeakable who'd introduced herself as "Sheda." She was slightly mad and had the tendency to go off on a tangent, but Henry had never learnt quite as much with anyone as with her.

"What was this business about Eihwaz, again?"

"Well, you see, it can be used to..." What followed was a five-minute-monologue and the question: "Got it?"

"Of course."

He'd taken notes, too.

Altogether, it was probably the busiest and yet best summer Henry could have imagined.


End file.
